


Bloodlust

by cookiegirl



Category: White Collar
Genre: ...sort of, Crack, M/M, Pre-Slash, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 01:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiegirl/pseuds/cookiegirl
Summary: Neal keeps buying Peter scarves. Peter keeps trying to figure out why.





	Bloodlust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NYWCgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NYWCgirl/gifts).



“What is it?” Peter says tiredly as Neal hands him a wrapped box when he walks into the office.

“A present,” Neal says, smiling innocently.

“If this is another scarf…” Peter says, putting one hand on his hip as he squints suspiciously at the gift in his other hand.

Neal shrugs. “You haven’t worn the first three, so I figured I’d try getting you a different color. I thought you might like a brown one.”

“Neal.” Peter says his name through slightly gritted teeth. “The reason I haven’t worn the scarves you bought me is not because I don’t like the color. Or the style. Or the material. It’s because it’s currently July, and it’s eighty degrees. Now would you please explain to me why you’re so desperate for me to wear one?”

“It’s fashion, Peter,” Neal says. He indicates the strip of silk around his own neck. He’s been wearing one scarf or another for two months now, and been trying to get Peter to wear one for almost as long. Peter has no idea why, and he certainly hasn’t seen any other men sporting this so-called fashion. He’s sure it has to be some sort of con, but he can’t imagine what possible angle Neal could be working.

“Just... take it back to the store,” Peter says, pushing the box gently back at Neal. “I appreciate the thought, but… no, actually, I don’t appreciate the thought. I don’t want any more scarves.” He shakes his head and strides up to his office, wondering when his C.I. became quite so weird.

\---

Neal stands by the basin in the restroom and studies himself in the mirror. He looks pretty good. A little pale, still, but not so much that someone would notice unless they were looking closely. He’s learnt to do wonders with a little foundation and blush. 

He adjusts the pendant lying underneath his shirt, snug against his chest. The metal is warm from his skin. For the millionth time, he mentally thanks Mozzie for finding him the amulet. He’d thought, when he first developed this ‘condition’, as he likes to refer to it, that he’d never see the sun again, but Mozz didn’t waste any time in hunting down something that would protect against the UV rays. Bless that man and his bizarre black-market contacts.

Finally, he re-ties the scarf around his neck. It’s a dark green silk mix that matches his handkerchief, but as high quality as it is, it still looks foolish. It’s a neck scarf. Still, it’s the only thing he can think to do to cover the marks. The marks, that show through make-up, that still glow blood-red even though they should be white by now. The marks, that anyone could tell are bite scars. He fingers them underneath the scarf. Being a vampire hasn’t cramped his lifestyle that much, not with the amulet, and the regular deliveries from his new friends at the blood bank, but the bite marks - they’re the worst.

Well, the second worst. The actual worst, he supposes, is that he can’t concentrate on work because he’s too distracted by Peter’s neck. Other necks don’t hold too much allure for him, not when his appetite is sated from sucking blood bags each night. But Peter’s… Peter’s is different. Peter, he supposes, has always been different. Peter, he has always wanted in one way or another.

And this afternoon he has to spend three hours in the van with him. He can’t do it. He knows he can’t. Last time they had a stake-out together, it was only for an hour, and he nearly gave himself away. He has to make Peter wear the scarf, or he won’t make it through. He has to make Peter cover his damn neck.

\---

Neal enters Peter’s office, carrying the box. Peter looks up, smiles at first, then frowns when he sees what Neal is holding.

“This again?” he sighs, setting down the file he’s been reading. “Really Neal, let it go. I’m happy to let the latest fashion trends pass me by.”

Neal sets the box on the desk, opens it and removes the soft chocolate-coloured scarf. “I bought it to match your eyes,” he says. “Just let me put it on you. To try.”

Peter frowns, looking at Neal as though he is either crazy or up to something. “I don’t -” he starts, but Neal moves behind him, stepping close to the back of his chair and reaching around to lay the scarf around his neck.

“It looks good on you,” Neal says, and he bends down close to Peter to tie the scarf in a knot. It’s a mistake. It puts him too close to Peter’s neck. Too close to the very thing he’s been trying so hard to ignore, to avoid for the last few weeks. The pale skin that he usually tries his best not to look at is now inches from him. It’s soft, and it smells of Peter’s cologne: woody, fresh, like rain in a forest. _Delicious_. The thrum of Peter’s blood, that calls to him every day, even when he's across the room, is almost deafening at this distance, throbbing in Neal’s ears, pounding through his head. Neal feels the sharp tug in his gums that means his teeth are lengthening. His hands clench involuntarily around the scarf. He swallows, saliva flooding his mouth. _Don’t, don’t, don’t,_ he tells himself, but he can hardly hear his thoughts above the bloodlust.

He dips his head, draws back his lips.

And Peter turns to look at him. Their eyes meet, and then Peter’s gaze drops to Neal’s mouth. To his teeth.

Neal stumbles back a step, puts a hand over his mouth. His heart is in his chest. He watches as Peter’s brows draw together, and confusion flickers across his face. Then Peter reaches out, and tugs the scarf from around Neal’s neck. It falls to the floor, and Neal knows Peter is looking at the bite marks.

Neal expects to see horror in Peter’s eyes. Revulsion. Shock. But Peter’s expression turns into one that Neal knows well: triumph at solving a puzzle. 

“Neal,” Peter says, calmly. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

**Author's Note:**

> I can only apologize for this! :D


End file.
